


Neal's Stash

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar
Genre: Beatings and Torture, Drugging, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Puzzling Nonsensical Tidbits of Information, a Questionable Admission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24752290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Once upon a time, Neal and Mozzie had absconded with a very lucrative haul in Europe. Now, years later, two other accomplices from that job have come to collect their pound of flesh. Their arrival on the scene puts Neal in grave danger and Peter has to think quickly to save his partner from certain death. Ultimately, a conflicted handler would be faced with a hard decision. Would Peter let himself believe that Neal was telling him the truth?
Relationships: Neal Caffrey & June Ellington, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 25
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

Neal was a night owl, probably a habit acquired over the many years of his career as a con man by day and a stealthy cat burglar by night. In his present restricted circumstances, he knew he should sleep during the late hours and stop trying to decipher the meaning of the empty wine bottle Kate left behind. It was getting him nowhere. It wasn’t like he hadn’t attempted to find a message over many other long nights that left him bleary-eyed as he dragged himself into the White Collar office at an ungodly hour each morning. If Peter Burke noticed Neal’s lethargy, at least he didn’t mention it. At this early stage in their partnership, neither man wanted to rock the boat. It was new uncharted territory, and both handler and consultant were treading lightly.

Neal was about to call it a night when he heard the soft rustling outside the door to his loft. His initial thought was that it was probably June, maybe experiencing her own bit of insomnia. Even though Neal’s door always remained unlocked, his gracious landlady unfailingly knocked before entering. The young con man knew he had been one lucky guy when he and June Ellington crossed paths in a consignment shop. The stylish matron appeared to be confident and savvy, and it didn’t take very long before the mismatched new acquaintances realized they were both lacking something. Neal needed a home and a lonely widow needed someone to need her. It quickly morphed into an unusual liaison, with Neal’s landlady becoming a much beloved confidant.

But on this night, there was no polite knocking, and it wasn’t June who came lurking across the threshold. It took a few seconds for Neal to place the faces of the two men who were now standing in front of him with guns in their fists. Years ago, before Neal and Mozzie had returned to the States from Europe, and long before Peter had nabbed his nemesis, they had accepted an assignment in Austria that entailed working with these two goons. It was supposed to be a simple night robbery of a bank in Vienna. Mozzie was a tech wizard who could disable the security system and Neal would work his magic on the locking mechanism of the vault. Their cut for one night’s work was supposed to be a substantial amount of Euros, and since Neal and Mozzie were a little low on funds during that timeframe, it seemed serendipitous. Instead, it turned deadly.

It all went according to plan, at least at first. Neal was busy scooping up packets of currency and throwing them into a backpack when a night security guard happened to appear unexpectedly and pull out his pistol. Every one froze for a nanosecond before one of the Austrians followed suit, whipping out his own gun and shooting the poor man through the heart. The echo of the gunshot seemed to reverberate through the building, and the assassin and his buddy went on a recon mission to see if the guard had a coworker still on the premises. Neal and Mozzie took that opportunity to grab the backpack and disappear through a side exit onto the dark Viennese street. They immediately split up, with Neal making his way to Venice, Italy and Mozzie to Munich, Germany. It was only much later that they reconnected in New York, long after Neal had hidden away the blood-tainted stash of money. Mozzie had been as freaked as Neal about the cold-blooded murder, and they tacitly agreed never to speak of the disaster again. Now the nightmare was front and center, and things didn’t look very good for Neal.

“You’re a double-crossing little pissant,” one of the scary men said in his guttural accent. “I’m going to enjoy crushing you under the heel of my boot after you tell us where you have our money stashed away.”

Neal lifted one eyebrow. “That statement doesn’t give me much incentive to tell you anything.”

“Oh, but we can be very persuasive,” his partner glowered. “By the time we’re done with you, your own mother wouldn’t recognize enough of your body to make a positive identification in the morgue.”

Neal tried to buy time. “Look, guys, my associate and I entered into a good-faith bargain with you to steal money. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. You reneged on the deal when you killed that security guard. Surely you can see how we may have panicked and run.”

“Right, you ran, with our money!” the first man snarled. “And after we finally tracked you down, we were then stuck cooling our heels because you got yourself locked away in the penitentiary for four years. Now that you’re out, it’s time to pay the piper. You’re going to tell us where it is.”

When Neal just narrowed his eyes and remained mute, the second bad guy spoke up. “You want an incentive to talk? I’ll show you some incentive.”

The two brutes dragged Neal down three flights of stairs until they were standing in the arch to the parlor. Neal’s eyes grew wide when he saw June in her dressing gown seated in a high-backed Queen Anne chair. Her arms were bound behind her with a length of severed electrical cord, and she was gagged with a piece of cloth. Instead of looking frightened, the formidable matron looked furious, and, if the gag wasn’t in place, she probably would have been spitting nails.

Neal’s voice was low and menacing. “If you touch her again, I’ll take your money with me to my grave. That’s both a threat and a promise, and I always keep my promises.”

“You’re digging that grave deeper and deeper for yourself,” the bigger of the two bullies murmured as he cracked his knuckles in anticipation. “It’s going to be a shame to ruin this lady’s expensive Oriental carpets with your blood.”

“Look, pal, maybe I’ll talk to you, but not here,” Neal finally said. “The deal is I’ll be more forthcoming wherever you next take me, but this lady stays put, tied up but safe. It’s the middle of the night, so nobody’s going to find her for hours and that’s more than enough time for us to conclude our business elsewhere.”

It took a few tense seconds for the menacing duo to come to a decision. Of course, Neal was thinking two steps ahead. He couldn’t trust that these psychopaths wouldn’t decide to harm June just for the hell of it, so he had to lead them away from her. He could only hope that they would snatch him and take him out of his two-mile radius so Peter would get an alert and ride to the rescue along with the Marshals. Surely, no matter how bad the imminent beating was going to be, Neal felt he could hold out that long.

Finally, the Austrians agreed to Neal’s terms and pulled him out of the house to where a van was parked at the curb. He was tossed like a sack of laundry into the rear compartment while one of his kidnappers climbed in behind him. Suddenly, Neal’s plan went up in smoke. “Damn it!” the big thug snarled to his partner as his eyes went to Neal’s ankle. “He’s wearing some sort of electronic tracking device.”

“Well, you’ve got your stiletto, so just cut it off,” came the rapid reply. “Whoever is so interested in where he is will just have to wait to find him until after we’re through with the little double-crosser.”

When Neal’s guard pulled out a wicked-looking blade, the trapped con man kicked out at his assailant, but all that got him was a nasty uppercut to the jaw that rendered him unconscious.

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter got the alert from the Marshals at 1:15 am. Neal’s tracker had stopped transmitting and a team was on the way to its last known location on Riverside Drive. Peter pulled on his clothes in record time and quickly motored across the Brooklyn Bridge, all the while chastising himself for ever putting his faith in a criminal. He knew Neal could be a valuable asset, but all of Peter’s encouragement to stay on the straight and narrow was for naught when it came to Kate Moreau. Neal had tunnel vision in matters of the heart, and now it was going to be his downfall yet again.

Before Peter had even reached Manhattan, he got an update. “We found the tracker in the gutter outside a mansion, and when we breached the residence we found the owner of the house in her living room gagged and trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey,” the head of the SWAT team told him dispassionately.

Suddenly a cold hand gripped Peter’s gut. He knew of the affection Neal had for June Ellington, and he’d never do that to her under any circumstances. A worried handler was abruptly demanding more clarification. “What did she tell you about how that happened to her?”

“Well, the lady claimed two men broke into her home, tied her up, and then took her boarder out of the house by force,” the Marshal replied. “Maybe that’s how it went down, or maybe this is all part of a neat little scenario that she and her tenant concocted to throw us off the scent. The woman seemed unnaturally fond of the felon she housed under her roof, so that sent up a few red flags for me.”

“Don’t jump to any conclusions just yet,” Peter warned. “I’ll talk to her when I get there. I’m ten minutes out.”

While Peter sat with June in her kitchen, the strong woman sipped some chamomile tea and alternated between looking worried and furious. “Two ruffians with possible German accents broke into my home, Agent Burke. Then they had the uncouth audacity to manhandle me as well as Neal. They wanted information from him and, if I’m not mistaken, after they obtain what they want, they’re going to kill that boy. Now what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to find them,” Peter vowed, “and I’m going to bring Neal back home. In the meantime, Mrs. Ellington, I’m afraid your house is a crime scene and there are going to be forensic technicians swarming all over the premises taking fingerprints, possible shoe prints, as well as anything else that may help us in our abduction investigation.”

June looked haughty. “I‘m quite familiar with the drill, Agent Burke. It played out quite a few times in the past when my Byron was still alive. My maid can clean up the mess they’ll leave behind in the house, but I insist that the FBI replace the front door they smashed in their zeal to find one young non-violent con artist!”

“Fair enough,” Peter managed to look a bit sheepish.

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter assembled his team in the pre-dawn hours in the White Collar office. Each member was assigned a task. Since Riverside Drive didn’t have surveilling cameras, Jones was pulling up street cam footage of vehicles in the vicinity of the Ellington mansion during the specific timeframe that Neal had been abducted. There were more cars and cabs than one would have expected during the late night hours. But New York was a city that never slept, so maybe it wasn’t that surprising.

Meanwhile, Diana was going through everything the Bureau had amassed over the years concerning Neal’s capers abroad, especially countries in the Germanic areas of Western Europe. Peter felt vindicated that he had kept such meticulous records of his consultant’s previous activities, even if they occurred well outside the FBI’s jurisdiction. Unfortunately, Neal had been a busy boy—he was Interpol’s repeated person of interest regarding thefts that stretched from the Baltic States to the shores of the United Kingdom. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Peter had made a promise to June Ellington, but now he wasn’t sure he could keep it. Would the day come when an unidentified young man’s body turned up in an alley or dumped in the Hudson and Peter would have to put a name to a cadaver on a coroner’s slab? That thought made him physically ill, and a dedicated by-the-book Federal Agent wondered when a paroled felon had become so much more than a CI to him?


	2. Chapter 2

Neal’s trial by fire started the minute he regained some sense of awareness. He found himself slumped in a wooden ladder-back chair in a small room that had dirty shag carpeting on the floor and knotty pine paneling on the walls. He could make out a short set of uncarpeted stairs in a corner that led upward, so he reckoned he was in the basement of some house. The faint smell of mildew further confirmed his assumption. He also became aware that his hands were tied behind his back with what felt like thick twine, and the rough, unforgiving strands were cutting into his wrists. Currently, his nasty abductors were front and center demanding answers.

“Okay, so here we are, all alone, and you said that you were going to tell us where our money is,” the bigger of the two snarled.

“I think I may have had a change of heart,” Neal taunted. “If I tell you what you want to know, you’re just going to kill me, so maybe I shouldn’t be so cooperative and hasten the inevitable.”

The Austrian actually smiled as he began pummeling Neal with a ferocious intensity. It seemed to go on forever until the victim of the abuse passed out once again. That’s how it went on for most of the next several hours—how many Neal couldn’t say because it was a cycle of painful awareness and then total oblivion as unconsciousness claimed him again and again. Upon awakening from each beating, Neal found himself fervently wishing it was going to be Peter staring into his face, but it never was.

The two Austrians seemed perplexed as well as impatient. “Is money so important to you that you insist on keeping silent and enduring this torment? What if we promised to let you live if you give up the location?”

Neal snorted belligerently, sending out a fine spray of blood from his mouth. “People like you don’t hold up your end of any bargains. You said nobody was going to get hurt during that heist in Vienna. You could have left that security guard live—locked him in the vault. Instead, I think you liked killing him. So, I’m not holding up my bargain either.”

Neal’s tormentor sneered. “What if I told you that I may make a return visit to someone you seem to have a soft spot for? How much of a beating do you think that old bag in the fancy house can endure?”

Now Neal actually laughed. “Go ahead, you moron. When you cut my tracker, she acquired a lot of impromptu house guests—the Federal kind. Maybe she can make you some tea while you chat with the FBI.”

That statement earned Neal another wave of unconsciousness while his torturers put their heads together to come up with another plan. Eventually, one left to go upstairs and retrieve something, and when Neal cracked open his swollen eyelids, he tried not to freak out when he recognized a hypodermic needle being slid into a vein on his arm.

“Maybe this little cocktail will make you a bit more cooperative,” the man smiled ghoulishly. “I’ve heard some people say it’s like a truth serum.” Then the pair went upstairs again to ice their bruised knuckles while Neal waited to see what was in store for him, thanks to whatever was now circulating in his body. He didn’t have long to endure the suspense. All at once, the room seemed to take on a vivid panorama of iridescent colors, coalescing for a few seconds then breaking apart and swirling around giving him a sense of vertigo. There were hallucinations as well, at least that’s what Neal hoped they were. The dark spots in the knotty pine walls seemed to be a sea of eyes staring at him with a ferocious intensity. The acoustic tiles in the ceiling overhead appeared to be sinking down slowly threatening to crush him while the piece of hose on the floor suddenly morphed into an undulating rattlesnake making its sinuous way toward his ankles. Neal felt his heart rate speed up in fight or flight mode, and he used his feet to feebly push himself away from the advancing viper. Unfortunately, all he managed to do was upend himself and the chair onto the hard floor. That was enough racket to have his abductors come running.

“Maybe he’s ready for round two,” the meaner of the assailants grinned. He began grilling Neal for a location, over and over, with Neal fearfully watching the eyes in the wall, the falling ceiling, and the dangerous snake on the floor instead of his interrogator. When the man saw his captive’s frightened expression focused on that length of hose, he picked it up and lashed out again and again with Neal cowering and whimpering.

“Tell me what I want to hear, Caffrey,” the Austrian demanded, and Neal heard himself hyperventilating and gasping. His mind was a jumbled mess, but he thought he remembered telling Mozzie, or maybe it was Kate, that his stash was in San Diego. No, that wasn’t right. Perhaps it was Portland. Even though he willed his lips closed, Neal heard himself murmur the name of a city.

“What was that you said?” his interrogator demanded.

“San Diego—no, um, I mean Portland,” Neal mumbled again.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” the torturer smiled. “Where, exactly, in Portland?”

Against his will, Neal named a nationally known bank. “It’s in a safe deposit box under an assumed name,” he blurted out.

“What name, and where’s your key?” the Austrian pushed.

“You don’t need a name, just a number, and you don’t need a key either,” Neal groaned in fear and pain.

“Why don’t you need a key? Don’t play me for a fool, Caffrey. All safe deposit boxes need keys to open them,” the man shouted impatiently.

“Not this one,” Neal assured him. “To open this one, you just need my thumbprint, so if you want to get your money, I guess you’ll have to take me with you.”

“Not necessarily,” the evil man simpered as he took out his stiletto. “Since you’ve been so informative while under the influence, I guess all we’ll need is your thumb. We can cut it off your hand, either while you’re still alive or after we kill you. Me—I’m thinking we do it while you can still feel the pain. Maybe we’ll cut off both of your thumbs since you didn’t specify either right or left.”

The other Austrian quickly stepped in. “Don’t be so hasty, my friend. That blade may be sharp, but it will be difficult to slice through bone with it. You’ll just wind up with a lacerated mess of tissue and cartilage, and you may even damage the fingerprints. Let’s see if we can find an ax or a hatchet in this place to do the job. If not, I saw a hardware store at a strip mall we passed earlier. When it opens in the morning, we can get the proper tool.”

Neal let out a pent-up breath when his abductors left the basement, and his candid confession quickly left his consciousness as well. While keeping a wary eye on the rattlesnake, his muddled mind now seemed to be preoccupied with visions of human thumbs, tumbling over and over and over, but their significance seemed to elude him. Thumbs—what about thumbs? They were opposable digits that allowed humans to claim a step above other animals on the evolutionary ladder. Could they be helpful in this situation? No matter how confused his mind was, Neal knew, deep down in the primal part of his brain, that he was in danger and needed to get away. “Think!” he commanded himself. Damn it, he had to organize his thoughts and do something or he was surely going to die.

Maybe the drug was slowly wearing off, or perhaps just temporarily waxing and waning, because Neal was starting to ignore the lurking snake and the house of horrors with its dangers. He was beginning to recognize the necessity to prioritize. The first thing he needed to do was get his hands loose from their bindings with their useful thumbs intact. Over the incessant course of the beatings, one of the wooden slats on the back of the chair had splintered leaving a sharp pointy end near the small of Neal’s back. Now a determined captive dredged up what little remaining strength he had to furiously rub that twine across the rough edge of the wood until it finally gave way. Neal massaged the circulation back into his hands and stared at his thumbs. “You’re going to stay right where you belong, fellas,” he promised.

Now that he was free, it was time for the next step in an escape attempt. Of course, there was the obvious way of leaving the room via the stairs, but Neal was now acting on deeply-ingrained autopilot so he knew that would be a foolhardy plan. He gazed around him and spotted a small basement window that was rectangular in shape high up on a wall. If he stood on the chair, he might be able to unlatch it, but actually crawling out through that small opening would be iffy. He knew he could wiggle his slim hips through the narrow opening, but not his shoulders—well, not normally his shoulders. During the repeated beatings that he had endured while having his arms bent behind him, Neal had felt his left arm pop out of its socket. He also suspected that he may have also sustained a broken collar bone, so the width of the top part of his body was slightly reduced in size. He would have to be a contortionist, but it was his only chance of making it out of this room alive and he was going to take it!

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter was beyond frustrated and afraid. Every agent had hit the streets working their snitches, but not a one claimed to know about Neal’s kidnapping. It was now sixteen hours since the young con man had been abducted, and that didn’t bode well for his survival. Peter had no intention of leaving the Bureau anytime soon. He was in for the long haul until somebody brought him something useful. El was sympathetic and delivered some home-cooked pot roast for him, Diana, and Jones, who steadfastly shared their leader’s anxiety. Neal, although a recent addition to their little crew, had wormed his way into their good graces, at least until he did something to mess up his parole. The two junior agents agreed with their supervisor. Whatever had happened to the amiable CI had probably not been his fault.

Finally, a little after 11 pm that night, Peter received a call from a police chief in Queens. “Agent Burke, I think you may be interested in an incident that took place earlier tonight in our district. A cabbie called 911 for an ambulance when he almost ran over some guy with his taxi. He didn’t actually hit the dude, who was stumbling along in the middle of the street, but when he went to check, the man was all bloody, like really messed up and totally out of his head. When the paramedics got on site, they took him to the local community hospital because it looked as if he had been viciously beaten. He didn’t have any identification on him so he was admitted at the hospital as a John Doe. They couldn’t get a name out of him because he wasn’t making any sense, even becoming combative and freaking out when they tried to draw blood and start an IV. The hospital staff had to restrain him, but the ER docs did call us. Now, I’m proud to say, my boys are sharp, and they think they recognized that John Doe from the BOLO you guys sent out earlier today. It was fresh in their minds, so even though his face is all messed up, they believe it might be Neal Caffrey. They took his prints, but it will take time to make a positive ID.”

“Which hospital?” Peter demanded hoarsely.

When Peter got the information, instead of saying a thank you, he curtly ended the conversation with a hurried, “I’m on my way!”


	3. Chapter 3

Peter slammed his car into a handy parking space designated for staff at a sprawling suburban hospital. He tossed his FBI placard onto the dash and hurried inside to harass the welcoming volunteer behind the desk. The poor flustered woman tried to be helpful by giving an impatient, but obviously distraught, man a paper map which she highlighted with the route to the ICU. When Peter honed in on his destination, he saw a uniformed office seated on a folding chair just outside the glass doors of a small cubicle. The Queens police were taking no chances of losing an escaped felon if he proved to be Neal Caffrey. If the man lying on a bed inside was Neal, Peter would make the identification, explain the circumstances surrounding his CI’s misunderstood “escape,” but still insist that a police guard remain as a first line defender if whomever was responsible for the abduction tried to get at the patient once again. Peter flashed his credentials at the cop, now standing at attention, and ventured into the tiny room.

The FBI handler sucked in his breath as he stared at someone who should look familiar but now resembled a once animated marionette whose strings had been cut. The overhead monitor with its steady procession of spikes and dips was the only thing reassuring Peter that Neal was still in there somewhere. His once handsome face was grossly swollen and a livid purple. An assortment of butterfly closures seemed to be the only things holding the pieces of a mosaic together. There was an IV line dripping into the forearm of an extremity, and cloth restraints tethered him to the steel bedframe. Peter could see some sort of strap above the neck of the hospital gown. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, and maybe he didn’t really want to know. “Neal,” Peter whispered in a hushed breath as he edged closer. Unfortunately, he got no response from the quiet figure before him.

Peter turned away from the horrendously wrecked victim of a vicious assault and ducked out the door. He faced the policeman and said in a firm, no nonsense tone, “That person inside could be in danger, so you need to alert your captain that he’ll require an around the clock detail sitting right here for his protection.”

Then Peter approached a nurse seated at a nearby desk. “I want the restraints removed from that patient immediately!”

Before the startled woman could respond, Peter heard a male voice behind him say, “That may not be a good idea at this juncture.”

Peter turned to face a middle-aged man in a white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck. A plastic laminated ID badge clipped onto his pocket identified him as Dr. Brenton. He stared hard at Peter and refused to be intimidated. Peter immediately presented his own badge and challenged him.

“My name is Special Agent Peter Burke of the FBI, and I’ve just identified that patient as my kidnapped confidential informant who has been missing for the last twenty-four hours after a forcible abduction. Now I’d like some information from you, Doc. What is his condition besides the obvious, and why isn’t he responsive?”

The physician seemed hesitant to provide any information, stating HIPPA regulations about a patient’s right to privacy regarding his medical status. Peter tried to keep calm. Being a bully wouldn’t get him far, and he desperately needed information to go forward in the investigation.

“Look, Dr. Brenton, Neal Caffrey is a ward of the state paroled into my custody. As such, I have been designated not only as his handler, but also as his medical power of attorney. I need to know everything about his condition, and I need to talk to him in order to obtain the identity of whomever did this to him so they can be brought to justice. It seems that he is currently unresponsive and I need to know why. And, just to put a personal spin on it, Neal is also my friend. He’s a gentle soul, not in the least dangerous, so he doesn’t need to be tied down.”

The physician seemed a bit impressed by Peter’s speech and he was a bit more forthcoming. “I wrote the order to restrain the patient to protect him from himself. When he first arrived in the emergency room, besides the obvious trauma, he wasn’t lucid. In fact, he seemed paranoid and combative and we certainly couldn’t treat him in that state. Now, Agent Burke, physicians have to proceed in their investigations the same way as law enforcement does. We look at the clues that we find and then search for answers. The most pressing issue was the behavioral presentation and we had to ascertain why he was acting the way he was. We didn’t know if he was having hallucinations because of schizophrenia or if he was in the throes of some sort of psychotic break from reality.”

Peter interrupted the man before he could continue. “Wasn’t it obvious that someone had viciously beaten him and that should have been your first priority instead of looking for a mental diagnosis?”

The doctor shrugged. “Unfortunately, people suffering from mental illness are often the target of sadistic people. It happens more often than you think. Now, let me be more specific about this patient,” the physician continued. “His physical injuries initially seemed non-life threatening. They included a fractured collar bone, a few fractured ribs, facial gashes, a dislocated shoulder, and a lacerated spleen. We were able to manipulate the arm back into its socket, apply a splint across his chest to keep the collarbone in alignment, and we embolized his spleen, but we were most concerned about his mental state. We took blood samples to find out if his volatility and disconnection from reality was a result of alcohol or drugs. However, what was of paramount importance was to ascertain if there was a possible enlarging brain bleed from the trauma he sustained. If blood was causing a hematoma to form on his brain, we would have to act quickly to get it under control to prevent permanent neural damage or even death. We felt a bit more relieved when an MRI showed that wasn’t the case.”

Peter felt overwhelmed. “Is he out of the woods yet, Doc?”

“Not quite yet, although we are hopeful he’ll make a full recovery in time,” Doctor Brenton answered honestly. “However, the tox screen showed a strange mélange of drugs in his system, all psychotropic in nature, which I assume he didn’t inject into himself. In that combination and at that high dosage, we’re not sure how he will react when he is finally able to regain consciousness. He may experience recurrent flashbacks long after the drugs have been metabolized. Right now, we’re lightly sedating him to keep him calm and comfortable, or at least as comfortable as he can be.”

“I think I’ll go back in and sit with him for a while after I make a few phone calls to the Bureau,” Peter murmured.

The physician squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “Keep the faith, my friend. Don’t get discouraged. It isn’t over til it’s over. That’s my motto.”

Peter made sure to update Hughes as well as his team to keep them in the loop. They would be picking up the slack back at White Collar conducting a manhunt for the kidnappers. Peter then called El, and only she was privy to her husband’s emotional pathos. “He’s Neal, Hon,” she said softly. “You know he’ll get through this.”

“Yeah, I’m told I just have to keep the faith,” Peter replied firmly. Then a worried FBI handler went to sit beside his quiet CI. He removed his coat and tie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. Then he pulled a chair close and placed a gentle hand on Neal’s chest. It was reassuring to feel the warmth of the young man’s body and see the regular rise and fall rhythm as he took slow, even breaths. “I’m here now, Buddy, and I’ll keep you safe,” Peter whispered as he finally closed his own eyes after a full day and night without sleep.

At some point during the rest of the long dusky hours, Neal cracked his eyes opened and peered into the dim light. When he detected a presence beside him, he almost panicked until he recognized his handler’s face. Then his accelerated heart rate settled back to normal because Peter had finally come. His friend would protect him from the boogeyman and the scary things that went bump in the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter awoke with a start and a crick in his neck. He wasn’t sure what had awakened him. The morning light was just dawning outside of the small room’s window, but it provided enough illumination for Peter to see Neal determinedly stripping the adhesive tape away from the intravenous line in his arm. The restraints were dangling uselessly from the bed frame.

Peter immediately sat up and grabbed his CI’s hands. “Neal, stop!” he hissed.

The young patient startled and cringed away in fear, so Peter then said in a calmer tone, “It’s me, Neal—Peter. C’mon, Buddy, look at me. You’re in a hospital because you were injured and you need that IV for medicines so you can get better.”

Peter held his breath until Neal slid wary eyes in his direction. “I have to get out of here,” the young CI slurred, “because it’s not safe.”

“Yes, it is,” Peter insisted. “I’m here to keep you safe.”

“I don’t know if you have the power to protect me from … stuff,” Neal ended lamely.

“What kind of stuff, Neal?” Peter cajoled. “C’mon, you can tell me. Was it the two men who kidnapped you from June’s house?”

Neal shook his head firmly, but he still seemed terrified so Peter continued in a softer tone. “Okay, so not them. But Neal, you need to tell me everything so I can help.”

“Can you slay demons and monsters, Peter?” Neal asked in a small voice. “There were plenty of those where I was—tall trees with eyes that kept watching me and white clouds that were trying to crush me.” Then a spooked young man furtively cast fearful looks around the floor of his room. “Do you see any rattlesnakes in here, Peter?”

Peter tried to keep his voice reassuring. If Neal’s mind was still mired down in a drug-induced altered state, would logic even be helpful? “Listen, Neal, I promise that nothing can terrorize or hurt you as long as you stay right here in this room. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, here, this room,” Neal repeated Peter’s words like a parrot although he didn’t look completely convinced. Instead his focus was now on his thumbs as he compulsively flexed them like he was making sure they both still worked.

“What’s wrong with your thumbs, Buddy? Do they hurt or something?”

Neal shrugged. “I have to make sure they stay on my hands.”

“Yeah, that’s a good thing because thumbs are useful,” was all a confused handler could think to say. “Now, Neal, let’s talk about the two men who took you.”

“Don’t want to,” Neal said firmly. “If I talk about them, I may conjure them up again and that would be very bad for me and June.”

Peter was stymied and decided to try another tactic. “Okay, Neal, those bad men who took you away. Do you know where they took you?”

“It was the scary place with all the monsters and I don’t want to go back there again,” Neal said with a bit of force. He seemed to be getting agitated once more, so Peter took a chance and laid a comforting arm on his shoulder hoping Neal wouldn’t flinch. “Okay, okay, I hear you. So how about you help me out with a different question. How did they take you away from June’s house?” Peter was hoping Neal would give him a clue to a vehicle that they could trace from the Ellington neighborhood during a specific time frame. It might lead them to the kidnappers.

Neal had quieted and was thoughtful. “I was inside the belly of some kind of animal.”

“Animal?” Peter echoed in confusion.

“Yeah, an animal,” Neal insisted with a decisive nod of his head.

“Okaay,” Peter drawled patiently. “Think hard, Buddy. Try to envision that animal so you can describe it to me. Maybe I can figure out what this creature was.”

There was several seconds of silence before Neal finally responded. “I’m not sure, but maybe it was sorta like a bucking bronco or a wild mustang. Or maybe it was a type of big jungle cat. You know, like a jaguar or a cougar,” he mumbled in bewilderment.

Peter’s mind was working quickly trying to make sense of his CI’s words. “Neal, all those animals you mentioned are the names of a type of car. Ford makes a Bronco and a Mustang, there’s the Mercury Cougar, and of course, Jaguar puts out its own creations. Was one of those a model of a vehicle you were in?”

Neal’s brow creased in concentration. “Well, I know it wasn’t a beetle ‘cause three men couldn’t fit inside a tiny insect,” the addled patient said firmly, as if his statement made some kind of logical sense.

“Right, Volkswagen Beetles are small,” Peter quickly agreed. “So, this was a larger vehicle. Do you think it could have been a van?”

“I told you—it wasn’t a car or a van; it was an animal!” Neal was back in his fantasy world again.

“Okay, an animal,” Peter quickly capitulated. He theorized that it probably hadn’t been a sedan because that type of vehicle wouldn’t have provided enough privacy for an abduction. Peter was going with the concept of a van. “Neal, this animal—could it have been a Bronco or maybe a Ram?”

“Yep, could have,” Neal shrugged.

“Well, if you had to pick one, which animal seems like the best choice?”

Neal thought about this for a few tense minutes. “I used to think rams looked cool with their curled horns and all. Now I don’t think I like them anymore.”

Peter grimaced in frustration. This was like playing twenty questions. It was just a matter of figuring out the right questions to ask. “Neal, do you happen to remember the color of this beast that had you inside its belly?” he asked patiently.

“Brown, definitely brown,” Neal nodded his head decisively.

“Great, that really helps me figure out some things,” Peter continued. “Now, June told me that the bad men who took you away spoke with an accent that may have been German. Is that true and do you know why they wanted you so badly?”

“I really love June,” Neal murmured fondly. “I had to keep her safe. But she was wrong. Those jerks weren’t German; they were Austrian.”

Peter thought maybe they were finally getting somewhere. “Why did two men from Austria want to take you away and almost beat you to death, Buddy? Obviously, they must have wanted something from you. What was it?”

“Information,” Neal finally confided in his handler. “But the joke’s on them. I sent them off to Portland on a wild goose chase because they can’t retrieve what they want since they don’t have these,” the con man smirked as he held up his thumbs.

Finally! There it was. Peter was blindly putting the pieces together from a mentally impaired Neal. Most likely, the impetuous and foolhardy young con man had double-crossed the wrong people back in Europe long before Peter ever caught him. Now, those same nefarious characters were hellbent on retrieving whatever Neal had stolen from under their noses. Apparently, he had given up that information, so it was a miracle he had survived long enough to engineer his own timely escape.

Peter quickly enclosed Neal’s hands in the cloth restraints once more. Neal looked hurt and confused and it tore at the Federal Agent’s heart. “You need to promise me that you won’t try to leave this room Neal, but after I’m gone you may forget your promise so I can’t take that chance. There are some things I need to do back at the Bureau, but I’ll send El or June to sit with you in a little while. When they get here, these things can come off again.”

“You _are_ coming back, right?” Neal asked apprehensively.

“Yes, Neal, I _will_ be back,” Peter reassured his young partner, although he wasn’t sure when that would be because there was now a lot of work to be done.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter sped back to Manhattan. He was a man on a mission and he quickly amassed his troops in the White Collar conference room. They were to hit the ground running with the information Peter now had in his arsenal. It was just as Dr. Brenton said: evaluate the clues to find the source.

“Okay, people, here’s what I know so far. I have reason to believe that Neal’s kidnappers were Austrians, probably recent arrivals in this country. We can check plane manifests and begin amassing lists of male names which we can then cross reference against lists from car rental agencies to see if any of those men holding Austrian passports signed a lease agreement for a brown van, maybe a Dodge Ram. If that pans out, then we have to locate that van and go over it with a fine tooth comb for any signs that Neal may have been in there. Then, to finetune our search, let’s make use of our friends in Homeland Security. They have resources to see who may have purchased tickets going outbound from our city to the Pacific Northwest in the very near future, specifically to Portland, Oregon. That would have been a very recent transaction. Lastly, I want a list of all the banks in Portland with safe deposit boxes on their premises using a relatively unique means of access, specifically, a thumbprint.”

Agents began scurrying to begin an investigation that, until just now, had been a dead end. As Peter returned to his office, Diana waylaid him. “So, I know you went to see Neal in the hospital. Did all of this new information come from him?”

Peter shrugged sheepishly. “To tell you the truth, Diana, I’m not sure just how accurate all this info is. Neal is in a really bad way. He was drugged out of his mind with some very potent stuff, and he’s still suffering the effects and not making a lot of sense. Everything is pure supposition on my part from the few things he did say, and right now I’m flying by the seat of my pants. I may be trying to force puzzle pieces into place to get the real picture.”

“But you’re suddenly interested in Portland, Oregon. Where did that come from?” Peter’s junior agent queried.

“Well, I’d like to keep this between the two of us,” Peter gave Diana a careful look.

“Of course, Boss. You can count on my silent discretion,” she assured him.

“I think the big picture is shaping up to be a bit of retribution for a past caper that took place abroad. It could have been in Austria or maybe not. Anyway, that doesn’t really matter in the long run. I think Neal may have crossed the wrong people at some time in his criminal past and stole something from them. Now they want it back and were willing to beat him to death to get their answers.”

“Did he give up those answers?” Diana wanted to know.

“Maybe a place—like Portland. But apparently it won’t be easy for them to get whatever it may be because that would require Neal’s thumbprint. Fortunately, he managed to escape with both of his digits intact. That’s why I started thinking banking institutions. If those vicious goons are desperate enough, they may try to engineer a bank heist all on their own to retrieve that box. I’m hoping we can get to them before that happens.”

“So, the great Neal Caffrey’s fabled stash,” Diana mused thoughtfully. “Do you really think it’s sitting idly in a bank in Portland, Oregon?”

“Maybe, if he ever takes up residence on planet Earth again, I’ll ask him,” Peter said carefully. “Until that time, let’s not go down that rabbit hole except to narrow the scope of where our perps may be headed.”

“I’m on it, Boss,” Diana smiled conspiratorially.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of the day, the tenacious agents had some results. After comparing various long lists, they had two possible suspects in their crosshairs, and a brown Dodge Ram van was now in the FBI’s forensic garage. It had been towed from a high-rise short-term parking facility at JFK. Blood in the back of the vehicle was a match for Neal’s, and two Austrian nationals were being detained in lockup. Originally, earlier in the day, the pair had purchased cross-country plane tickets to Oregon, but apparently, they had second thoughts after discovering their captive had flown the coop. Agents arrested them in a lounge awaiting a Lufthansa flight bound for Austria later that evening.

Peter returned to the hospital and found his wife and June Ellington seated beside Neal’s bed with their heads together whispering like school girls sharing secrets. Neal looked peaceful, unfettered, and asleep, and even his intravenous line had been removed.

“How’s he doing?” Peter asked softly.

“Still a bit loopy, but it was a sweet kind of loopy,” El said affectionately. “I can’t tell you how many times he told June and I how beautiful we are. I think they’re going to move him to a regular room tomorrow.”

“Since I actually endow this hospital quite generously, it had better be a suite,” June smiled, and Peter didn’t doubt for one minute that the wealthy matron was anything but serious.

“Well, thank you for being here, Mrs. Ellington,” Peter replied graciously.

“Neal is one of a kind, and he’s very special to me. He tried to protect me and look how he suffered for his gallantry,” she answered sadly.

“Well, I think you can be instrumental in getting justice for him,” Peter replied. “I believe we have the men who broke into your home in custody. If you can pick them out of a line up, then we can nail them for kidnapping. That should earn those ghouls a few decades behind bars. And if Neal is up to identifying them at a later date, we can add on aggravated assault charges as well.”

“My eyesight is perfect, Agent Burke, and I’m sure, if you’ve arrested the right culprits, I’ll be able to help you put them away,” June was adamant.

Finally, after the doting ladies had departed, Peter again took a chair beside Neal’s bed. The patient slept until a nurse came in to take his vital signs. “Hey, Partner,” Neal sighed contentedly when he saw Peter beside him.

“Hey, yourself,” Peter smiled. “How are you holding up, Neal? Are you in much pain?”

“Nah, they’re giving me the good drugs this time—oxycodone, if you can believe it,” Neal said dreamily.

“So, no more panic attacks?” Peter pushed.

Neal grimaced. “Well, there are still some freaky weird images swirling around in my brain, but it’s like nightmares that slowly get hazy after you finally wake up. Maybe, in time, they’ll all fade away permanently.”

Peter smiled. “Look, I’m not here to badger you again, Buddy. I just want to tell you that we caught your assailants and they’re behind bars and likely to stay there for a long time. We tracked down their abduction vehicle and, using the van’s GPS history, we located a vacant house where they tortured you in the basement. Your blood was all over the floor and the walls. I know it had to have been awful for you, and I’m so sorry.”

“So, you found the ‘animal’ car and the dungeon with the funhouse mirrors,” Neal replied softly. “That’s impressive detective work, Peter. You managed to make something out of almost nothing because I know I wasn’t much help to you earlier in the day.”

Peter shrugged. “Maybe you were. I was hoping that even if your conscious mind was delusional, your subconscious was trying to provide me with clues to figure out the puzzle.”

Neal grimaced. “If you say so. Personally, I think equine and jungle animals were a mighty long stretch of the imagination.”

Peter had to smile. “I guess, no matter what the circumstances, maybe you and I share a sort of psychic connection. We seem to have the unique ability to decipher things that aren’t actually said.”

“Now _that_ is a scary concept,” Neal quipped while giving a fake shudder.

“Do you want me to spend the night with you again, Buddy?” Peter asked quietly.

“Nah, I think I’m past the night terrors now,” Neal answered as he stared curiously at Peter. “But thanks for offering.”

“Well, okay then. Call if you need anything,” Peter said as he turned to go. But before he reached the door, he stopped, took a deep breath, and pivoted on his heels. Neal was still staring after him intently.

“What?” the young man said softly. “Did you forget to ask the really important question, Peter? Remember, we can read each other’s minds.”

“Yeah, that question,” Peter agreed. “Are you going to answer it, Neal?”

“I promise to tell you the absolute truth, Peter,” the con man replied earnestly.

“Alright, then tell me this, Neal. Is your stash hidden away in Portland, Oregon?”

Peter watched a smile blossom on his partner’s black and blue face. “I can honestly say that any stash I may have allegedly amassed over the years is not in Portland, Oregon.”

Peter seemed to deflate. “Uh huh,” was all he uttered before he actually did leave the unit. On the way out, he nodded at a short, bald man in a housekeeping uniform wielding a mop and a bucket of soapy water in the hallway. “Watch over our boy, Haversham,” Peter murmured sotto voice as he quickened his pace.

Neal settled back on his pillow and continued to smile after Peter left. The con man had vowed he would never lie to his handler. Maybe he had allowed Peter to labor under some misconceptions, but he’d never told an out and out untruth to his keeper. He hadn’t broken that vow today. It never failed to amuse Neal that when someone mentioned Portland, everyone immediately assumed it was a Pacific Northwest city instead of another charming one located 3,000 miles away on the Atlantic Coast of Maine. Bank of America actually made its headquarters down near the quaint harbor in the coastal town, and the restaurants tucked away along the waterfront offered delectable seafood dishes for the most discriminating palates. Neal had certainly enjoyed his visit years ago. Maybe one day, after his parole was up, he’d return again to reclaim a few things he had once left behind.


End file.
